


While the Sands O' Life Shall Run

by Penny_P



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P
Summary: In 2378, Captain Janeway was guided by her future self and brought Voyager home through a Borg transwarp tunnel late in the 7th year of its journey.  Ten years later, she and Chakotay question whether that was the right decision.This is a direct sequel to my story "Though It Were 10,000 Mile," however, it can be read as a stand-alone.  This (like "10,000 Mile") diverges from canon only to this extent: Janeway and Chakotay fell in love while on New Earth, but after returning to the ship put their duty ahead of their feelings and did not acknowledge or act upon them.  All canon, including "Endgame," happened; these stories supplement it.This story was written in 2019 and this is its first posting. The title is inspired by the Robert Burns poem, "A Red, Red Rose."





	While the Sands O' Life Shall Run

**Prologue** : _ 2404, Admiral Janeway at the Starfleet Memorial Gardens _

The day was unseasonably cool and rainy, which was her least favorite weather, but the weather could not deter her. This day, of all days, she had to come. 

She walked without hesitation down the grassy aisle of the cemetery, needing no map or directions to find what she was looking for. The rain had left bits of grass on the marble stone and plaque, which she gently brushed away. “Chakotay,” it read simply. “2329- 2394.” 

“Any final words of advice for your old captain?” she asked, and smiled slightly. “Wait, don’t tell me. I’m being impulsive. I haven’t considered all the consequences. It’s too risky.” 

Her smile faded as she realized that not only would he have asked all those questions, he would have been correct. “Thanks for the input, but I’ve got to do what I think is right.”

Yes, this was definitely the right thing to do. She had made many mistakes in life, but now she had a chance to correct at least one of them - the one that might make the biggest difference for the person she was now speaking to. “I know it wasn’t easy living all those years without her, Chakotay. But when I’m through, things might be better for all of us. Trust me.”

** What Happened Next**

_2404, Admiral Janeway in shuttlecraft SC-4, somewhere above a planet in the Klingon Empire _

Admiral Janeway was beyond angry; fury was an inadequate word, as was rage, outraged, incensed or choleric or any similar word in the dictionary. There was no word, she was certain, that accurately captured her feelings toward that double-dealing, cheating, dishonorable Klingon calling himself Korath. Years of meticulous planning were in jeopardy because one _petaQ_ was greedy and reneging on their deal. No, that was not how this was going to end. She was going to get that device, she was going to install it in her shuttle, and she was going to travel back in time. No one, especially an unscrupulous Klingon, was going to stop her.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down. Her heart was racing, and she realized that had not happened for a very long time. Just a few short weeks ago, at the tenth anniversary party of Voyager’s return, she had experienced her first case of butterflies about the plan, but until now, she had been unshaken in her belief she could pull it off. She could not allow this strutting, narcissistic Klingon to distract her now. 

Several breaths later, the hot rage turned to icy clarity. She knew what she had to do. First, she had to make certain Miral got to safety. If she didn’t get the device, or if her plan failed, this timeline would remain intact. Miral would be in danger if she remained here.

Sitting in the pilot’s seat of the SC-4 shuttle, she brushed the communications control. “Janeway to Paris.” 

“Paris here,” Miral responded promptly.

“Are you still in orbit? I told you, your mission is complete, Ensign,” the Admiral told her. “I want you to get out of here as fast as you can.”

“Understood,” she replied, then added, “Successfully completed, Admiral?”

“Close enough,” the Admiral said. “Your part was a success, as I told you. Go see your parents - now.”

“What about you, Admiral?” she asked, sounding concerned. 

“I’ll be along shortly. There is one more thing I need to take care of.” She paused, then added, “Thank you for all you’ve done, Miral. I appreciate it.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Miral said. “Paris out.”

There. At least Miral wouldn’t be in any immediate danger if Kathryn failed in her effort. If she succeeded, well, it wouldn’t matter. 

She used the neural interface with the shuttle to set it in parking orbit and left the cockpit. The supplies she needed were stored in the aft compartment. It took only a moment to find what she was looking for – a small, self-adhering transporter relay. With this, she could get the chrono deflector from Korath, whether he gave it willingly or not. She slipped it into the pocket of her uniform jacket and returned to the forward compartment.

_ 2378: USS Voyager, Delta Quadrant, Captain Kathryn Janeway _

“Senior officers report to the bridge,” Captain Janeway announced into the shipwide comm system, frowning deeply. She didn’t like interrupting the personal time of her senior staff; they'd had little downtime recently and needed to decompress from the high level of stress they’d been under since nearly ramming a Borg cube inside a nebula three days earlier. They’d managed to get out of the nebula without attracting Borg attention, but they’d been on high alert ever since. 

She had confidence in her Beta shift officers, but this development required the best and most experienced minds available. She knew for a fact she was interrupting Tuvok’s meditation time and a supposedly secret “date” between Chakotay and Seven, but it couldn’t be helped. This had the potential to be extremely dangerous.

Tuvok and Kim reached the bridge first and took their stations; moments later, Chakotay and Seven arrived together. She peeled off to Astrometrics and he came directly to his chair. As he sat, he asked the Captain, “What is it?”

With a frown, she told them, “Judging from the tachyon emission, some sort of temporal rift.”

Seven looked up from her station. “How is it being generated?”

Kathryn shook her head. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” A temporal rift was always, _always_ a harbinger of trouble. 

_ 2388: McIlroy Farm, New Caledonia Colony; Catriona _

It was the time of evening called “gloaming” on New Caledonia, when the sun has fallen below the horizon but there is still enough light to see without artificial aid. The woman who now thought of herself as Catriona McIlroy had finished the evening chores; the goats were fed and penned for the night; and now it was time for her own meal. New Caledonia was a harsh land, unsoftened by technological aids. The original settlers, an unlikely combination of humans and Andorians united by a distrust of artificial intelligence and related devices, initially allowed nothing more advanced than mid-twentieth century tech. That remained the norm on the planet.

Catriona didn’t mind. Maintaining the farm kept her adequately occupied, and the lack of technology kept strangers from visiting the planet. Today, she wanted to work hard in the hope that she would sleep later. This was the tenth year to the day after _Voyager_ had returned to Earth, thanks to the time-traveling version of herself who had risked everything to bring the ship home. For many years she had been unable to mark the date; but since coming to New Caledonia, it had been impossible to ignore it. The anniversary stirred up a number of memories and feelings she managed to suppress most other days. 

She wiped the mud off her boots before opening the door to her small, ramshackle house. Stepping inside, she left the door open as she set her phaser rifle on its stand so she could pull off fleece-lined gloves and stuff them into the pockets of her coat. It was technically still autumn, but the wind had come out of the north all day with the promise of winter. Tomorrow she would have to chop more wood; last year, the generator gave out for three days during a blizzard and the fireplace had been her sole source of heat. 

She unwound the scarf from her neck and realized she wasn’t alone. Someone, barely a silhouette in the dim light, was sitting still and silent at her kitchen table. With no hesitation in her movement, she hung her scarf and coat on their wall pegs, snatched up the rifle and aimed it at the figure in the shadows. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“An old friend,” said a voice from her past. She recognized it immediately but didn’t trust her memory completely. She peered through the dim light. As her eyes adjusted, she was able to discern some features. It really was Chakotay. 

How had he found her? Could she trust him? Should she trust him? Shaking her head, she lowered her aim but kept hold of the rifle. “How the hell did you find me?”

“It’s a long story,” he said calmly. She’d always admired his composure in the face of danger, and he seemed to realize this situation was dangerous. 

Still gripping the rifle, she hit the control switch on the wall. The lights came on and she got a good look at him. Except for his hair, which was now silver and long, he looked the same. Ten long years, and he looked the same. She didn’t, and she knew it. “Are you here to kill me?”

“What?” He seemed genuinely shocked. “Gods, no. Why would you even think that?”

“Then why are you here?”

He looked around the small, three-room house. “That’s a long story, too. Why don’t we swap stories over a cup of coffee?

She chuffed, the closest she came to a chuckle these days. “There’s no coffee on this planet. I’ve got something that passes for tea, though.” Without conscious thought, she decided to trust him and set the rifle in its stand. After shutting the door, she walked past him to the small kitchen area in the corner. As she passed, she looked at him surreptitiously, trying to figure out his intentions, but he gave no clue. 

He waited in silence while she washed her hands, filled a kettle with water and retrieved two mugs and a canister from a cupboard. Finally, she sat in the only other kitchen chair. “How’s Seven?” she asked. 

“Fine, the last I heard. We split up eight years ago. I think she’s still on Vulcan, but that may be out of date.”

She was shocked into silence. All these years, she had comforted herself with the thought that Chakotay and Seven were happy together. That, and knowing Tuvok was healthy, had sustained her through the worst out it. “I-l’m sorry. What happened?” Then she shook her head. “Never mind, none of my business.”

“She got tired of being a substitute.” He looked her in the eye. “Why did you do it, Kathryn?”

“Catriona, not Kathryn,” she said quickly. “I’m Catriona here, and I want to keep it that way.”

“Why did you do it?”

She smiled, or tried to. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific. It’s been ten years, after all. Today's the anniversary, isn't it?”

“Why did you disappear? Why did you fake your death?” He didn’t raise his voice, but his anger came through. “Why didn’t you at least tell Paris or your sister that you are alive? Why are you living in this hovel, raising goats?”

“I like the goats,” she said mildly, and then looked around. The house consisted of one great room, with a loom and a fireplace on one wall and a ragged sofa covered with knitted throws in front of it. Her small table and two chairs took up the second wall, with the cramped kitchen area on the third wall. A closed door led to the bedroom and bathroom. It was undeniably small; the technology was antiquated; and the roof needed some repairs; but sometime in the past few years it had stopped being a hovel and become home. “I’ve got indoor plumbing and a bathtub.”

“Answer the question,” he snapped. 

His tone put her hackles up. “That’s none of _your_ business.”

Hurt showed in his eyes, but any retort was cut off by the sudden, shrill whistle of the kettle. She pushed back from the table, grateful for the interruption. Who was he, to be hurt by _her_ secrets? 

The ritual of preparing the tea, placing the leaves in the filter and pouring water gave her a chance to regain her calm. She brought the mugs back to the table and sat again but said nothing.

After a moment, he said, “Maybe it’s better if I start.”

“Maybe it would be.”

_ Chakotay _

“Maybe it would be.” He heard challenge in her voice, and wariness, and his residual anger turned to sadness. How could it be like this between them? Yes, a decade had passed, but had she changed so much? He had expected her appearance to be different but not the bond between them. The woman sitting across from him was too thin, her hair faded to an ashy shade of silver, and her skin showed the effects of outdoor labor; but the eyes were still the same. Just looking at her revived the sense of connection he’d felt the first time they met. Did she not feel it? Was it truly gone, or had the years just buried it deep within her?

“You know some of it,” he said. “Once we were home and found out that there would be no prosecutions, I had to decide whether to stay in Starfleet. I went to Indiana to talk to you about it. That’s when you told me you had resigned.”

“I remember,” she murmured. 

He wondered if she remembered it the same way he did. When she told him she had resigned, he’d been shocked and a little hurt she hadn’t told him before then. Even so, he had asked her to come with him to Trebus. Her expression had gone completely flat as she said no and refused to say anything more, other than he should ask Seven instead. He had been, as they say, gobsmacked; it was not the answer he anticipated. The rejection felt like a body blow.

When Admiral Janeway traveled through time and was on _Voyager_ in 2378, he had a chance to have a private conversation with her. She had told him two things: that she was breaking the Temporal Prime Directive to save the Federation from Species 8472, and that Kathryn had always loved him, even though circumstances on _Voyager _meant she could not show it or act on it. He had fully expected that once they were back on Earth, they would be free to act. Her refusal had stunned him and made him wonder what else the Admiral had lied about.

“I decided to stay in,” he went on, remembering the anger behind that impulsive decision. “When I told Seven, she signed on, too. We wound up on the same ship. We weren’t married, but I found out later that Admiral Paris pulled some strings to arrange it - I didn’t ask him to.” It was important she understood that.

She nodded. “I know. The _V__igilant. _You were XO and Seven was head of Astrometrics.”

He looked at her with sudden suspicion. “You? _You_ asked Admiral Paris?” She said nothing, but he knew then that she had. He didn’t even feel angry, but he was confused. “Why?”

“You were supposed to be together,” she said after a long pause.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He struggled to understand. True, he’d gone on a couple of “dates” with Seven before _Voyager_ got back to the Alpha Quadrant, but nothing that should have created the impression of a commitment. They hadn’t even slept together at that point. They literally had just shared a first kiss moments before Admiral Janeway arrived. It was a sweet interlude but hardly a deep relationship.

She stared into her mug for a long time before finally answering. “Admiral Janeway told me. She told me that in her timeline, you married Seven and you were devastated when she died. You never really recovered, and you died of grief soon after we returned.”

He could only stare at her, dumbfounded. His recollection of his feelings for Seven at the time they returned couldn’t be reconciled with insurmountable grief at her loss. Yes, he had been growing fond of her and she of him; he hadn’t realized how much he missed affection until Seven had offered it. Still, he had survived her loss in this timeline with a little sorrow, but certainly not devastation. It just didn’t make sense.

Unless… Admiral Janeway had a conversation with Seven which caused Seven to try to end the fledgling relationship, and implied to him that Kathryn would be with him, not Seven, if they just got home sooner. Was she trying to play matchmaker for her alternate self by nipping the relationship with Seven in the bud? Or just playing some inscrutable game of manipulation to get support for her proposal? 

She looked up and said, “I wanted you to be happy.”

“Please tell me,” he said slowly, “that’s not why you agreed to Admiral Janeway’s proposal.”

“Not just that,” she said defensively. “There was Tuvok’s illness, and the chance to destroy the Borg. And to get the crew home. I was responsible for getting us there. I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get us back in seven years instead of twenty-three.”

It was so like her, to make a decision like that, out of guilt. Admiral Janeway had known exactly the buttons to push to get Kathryn to do what she wanted. He couldn’t even be angry anymore. It was all too sad.

“Well,” he said, “B’Elanna let me know when your mother died. I sent you a letter, but it came back, saying the address was not valid. That’s how I found out you’d left Earth and no one knew where you were.”

He waited for her to say something but she didn’t, so he went on, “After two years on the _Vigilant, _Seven requested a transfer. We’d worn out whatever it was that brought us together, and she wanted to get as far away from me as she could.” He smiled humorlessly. “She got an assignment on the _John __Glenn _mapping the Gamma Quadrant, so I guess she succeeded. At the end of that she left Starfleet. Last I heard, she was lecturing at the Vulcan Science Academy.” 

Kathryn blinked twice and stared at her tea again. “What about you?”

“I gave Starfleet five years and then resigned. They were never going to give me a command, and I was tired of always being Number One to someone else.” Truth be told, he had never developed anything close to the relationships with his various crewmates as he had on _Voyager. _He kept searching for the same kind of connection but never found it. “I decided to go back to Trebus and see if I could help with the rebuilding. But I visited with Tom and B’Elanna before I left Earth, and they told me you were dead.” Even now, he remembered how that news had hit him like a punch to the gut. 

Her head jerked up. “_Five_ years ago? Tom and B’Elanna thought I was dead five years ago?”

“That’s right,” he said, surprised by her reaction. "They said your sister told them."

Her mouth tightened into a thin, flat line. “Those bastards.”

He felt certain she didn’t mean Tom and B’Elanna. Every instinct told him there was much more to her story than he knew, and it wasn’t good. “I think it’s your turn now.”

_ Catriona _

It had been a long time since she felt as angry as this, even though Chakotay’s words only confirmed something she had long suspected. Keeping her emotions tamped down had allowed her to survive. This, though, brought rage burning to the forefront. “Those bastards.” The words escaped her before she could stop them.

Chakotay looked at her with an odd mix of compassion and curiosity. “I think it’s your turn now,” he said gently. 

Her mind was a sudden jumble of incoherent thoughts and very real emotions - anger, fear and surprisingly, relief. She had not shared this with anyone in ten years, and the need to do so now was suddenly overwhelming. “If I tell you, you’ll be in danger, too. I swore I wouldn’t do that, not to anyone.”

He regarded her solemnly, then reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his. “I’ll take my chances,” he said. 

The touch startled her; it had been a very long time since anyone touched her in kindness. It felt more intimate than a kiss. She swallowed, and said haltingly, “You asked why I left Earth. That was the deal.”

_ 2378, San Francisco, Starfleet Command HQ, Captain Kathryn Janeway _

Admiral William Ross, Chief of Starfleet Operations, looked at her across his desk, and his face might as well have been carved from stone for the emotion it betrayed. Despite all the celebrations and hoopla surrounding _Voyager’s_ early return, she knew she would be called to answer for her decisions in the Delta Quadrant. Although she hadn’t expected it when she received the summons to his office, she now had a feeling Ross was about to initiate that process.

“Captain Janeway,” he said formally, “I’ve previously offered you congratulations on not only surviving the Delta Quadrant but also making it home in only seven years. You and your crew achieved something unprecedented. Unfortunately, after reviewing your logs, it is apparent that in the course of doing so, you violated several Starfleet regulations. I’m afraid we have no choice but to order a court-martial.” He picked up a PADD from his desk and handed it to her. “You’ll get the official notification tomorrow, but here’s the list of charges.”

She accepted it silently and began reading. Multiple counts of violating the Prime Directive, ranging from the decision to destroy the Caretaker’s array and the rescue of Paris and Kim from the Akriterians to violation of the Temporal Prime Directive in accepting Admiral Janeway’s aid in returning home. There were a dozen charges in all, and at least one of them – pertaining to her interrogation of Noah Lessing – was criminal. Nothing on it came as a complete surprise, other than the scope of it all. Keeping her expression even, she handed it back to Ross. “I think you forgot over-consumption of coffee,” she said dryly. 

Ross glowered at her. “Do you think this is a joke, Captain?”

“No, sir.” She reminded herself that she needed to stay calm and tamp down the rising sense of both anger and betrayal. The admiralty clearly had no understanding of what it meant to be alone on the other side of the galaxy. “My apologies. I had hoped to be given a little more leeway, given the circumstances.”

“I wish it wasn’t necessary,” he said.

“So do I,” she said. A court martial was going to be messy and likely splash over to at least some of her crew. Most of them wanted to remain in Starfleet. Testifying on her behalf or even being implicated in some of her decisions – which was certainly a possibility for her senior staff – was not going to help them advance in their career. And the publicity was bound to be bad for everyone, probably even worse than the reality. Her mother’s health wasn’t good; this type of bad publicity could be harmful to her. 

“What if it isn’t?” she said suddenly, acting on a half-formed thought. “Necessary, I mean.”

The Admiral’s eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“What if I resign?” she said. “And sign a confidentiality agreement. That way there’s no risk of bad publicity, and you’ve solved the problem of what to do with me.” 

He regarded her for a long moment. “Interesting you should say that,” he said slowly. “Have you ever heard of Section 31?”

_ 2388: McIlroy Farm, New Caledonia Colony; Catriona _

Chakotay frowned at her. “What deal?”

“The deal I made with Admiral Ross when we got home.” She had to steel herself a little to continue. “He planned to court-martial me, including some criminal charges. Then he offered me a deal.”

“What? What deal?” He was looking at her intently.

“All I had to do was resign, keep my silence, and work for Section 31.” She could still see the implacable expression on Ross’s face. “He thought I had skills they could use and,” she smiled wryly, “the will to see difficult situations through to the end. He thought our unexpected arrival home was,” she paused again, searching for the right word. “Fortuitous. The Dominion War was officially over, but there were new security risks and Section 31 was actively, if discreetly, recruiting.” 

“Section 31? It really exists?” He looked shocked, then not. “I’ve heard the rumors, but I thought they were some paranoid conspiracy.”

“Oh, it’s real.” She debated how much detail to provide and decided to keep it high level, for his own safety. “I wasn’t all that afraid of a court-martial, but it would have destroyed my mother. The idea of getting away was pretty appealing just then. They wanted an operative near the Breen border, to keep an eye on them. It was still pretty tense after the war, even with the complete capitulation of the Founders. The Breen were relatively untouched and still maintained a significant military fleet.

“After my mother died, I left. They set me up with a new identity as a private cargo hauler named Grace O’Malley, after the legendary Irish pirate. I was able to provide some useful intelligence about their fleet activity.” Memories brought a smile to her lips. “Some of it was actually fun. Not being Kathryn Janeway anymore was surprisingly liberating, and the adrenaline rush reminded me of _Voyager._” 

The smile faded. “Then I refused an assignment. They wanted another freighter pilot dead, and they wouldn’t tell me why. I knew him; he was a decent soul who posed no threat to anyone. I couldn’t do it.”

His hand, still covering hers, squeezed lightly. “Of course you couldn’t.”

“Six months later, I was arrested by the Breen for smuggling. There were weapons in my hold I didn’t know were there.” She pulled her hands away and stood up, feeling the need to move. “That was five years ago.”

“They set you up?”

She ran a hand through her shoulder length hair. “I suspected it, but if they were telling my family that I was dead back then, I’m sure of it. They wrote me off and thought I was safely out of the way.” They betrayed her because she wouldn’t murder a harmless being. She started to shake with anger. “Those _bastards_.”

Chakotay rose and in two quick steps reached her and enfolded her in a hug. She stiffened and resisted the touch, but he refused to let her break away. After a few seconds she stopped shaking and permitted herself to feel the comfort he offered. She couldn’t remember the last time she allowed herself this much vulnerability. “What did the Breen do?” He asked softly.

“Put me in prison,” she said into his shoulder. “Oh, they gave me a trial first, Breen-style. They told me what I did and how long I would be in prison for it. The rest of my life.” She closed her eyes. Long-healed bruises and scars, physical and emotional, seemed to ache just because she said the words out loud. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right.” They stood in silence for several seconds, until she pushed away. If she was going to tell it, she needed to tell all of it. “A small group of us managed to break out. It took over a year to set up. Once we were out, we split into pairs as soon as we could. My cell mate and I stuck together, and she was able to talk our way onto an outgoing ship--or at least, we thought she had. The captain realized we were fugitives just before leaving. He didn’t call the authorities, but he kicked me off.”

_ 2384: Private Freighter Starwagon, Breen Space Port, Breen; Grace O’Malley _

Grace looked around the engine room warily. The Chief was frowning at Ticana, who admittedly did not look like someone who knew anything about warp engines. The three others in the room were at their stations, focused on their jobs and ignoring the two new hires. It was likely, she decided, that they were nearly as new to the ship as she and Ticana. This was the type of ship that people in need of low-profile transportation signed on with and left at the most convenient port of call. 

Morrock was an ex-patriate Benzite, not particularly tied to any world since he fled the Romulan occupation of his home. The _Starwagon _was registered to New Caledonia, but that was almost the same as saying it was unregistered. New Caledonia was not known for strict regulations or active enforcement. Morrock had a reputation for accepting crew without documentation; he knew what it meant to get away from an oppressive government and wasn’t fussy about background checks. 

Still, Grace had been surprised when he agreed to take on the two women. While she might have dazzled him with her engineering knowledge, she thought it more likely Ticana’s exotic beauty and unfiltered pheromones sealed the deal. A Deltan by birth, she’d been nothing more than the companion of a ship’s captain when the Breen arrested her and everyone else on board. She’d been Grace’s cellmate from the start and had managed to glean a few special favors from the guards to make life a little more bearable for the two of them. They enjoyed the closest thing to friendship that could exist in a Breen prison.

Now, Ticana was staring hopelessly at a slightly dirty console that had seen better days. She cast a despairing look at Grace, and she went over to help. As she reached for a spanner on an overhead shelf, she brushed her forearm on something sharp and jagged, and the pain was immediate. She made no sound; she had learned to control her reactions to pain.

A shallow cut ran four inches along the outer side of her forearm. “Can you get me a rag?” Grace asked Ticana, studying the cut. It wasn’t serious, but it was starting to bleed quite a bit. Ticana handed her a long scrap that was covered with old stains but seemed to be freshly laundered. Grace tried to wrap it around her arm to bind the wound, but couldn’t do it herself. “Help me here,” she said.

Ticana began winding the bandage, but stopped with a frown. “What’s this?” she asked, and with thumb and index finger, reached into the cut itself. There was a small sucking sound and a flicker of pain as she lifted out a small, bloody chip, half the size of her little finger’s nail. 

Grace took it from her while her friend finished the bandage. It was bloody, but it was clearly some kind of communication chip. She didn’t recognize the technology and even more troubling, she didn’t remember ever having such a chip implanted. 

A cold fear suddenly seized her. The Breen were known for the efficient tracking of their prisoners; this was surely some kind of tracking device. It was probably implanted during her first medical examination when she was arrested- they had given her some strange drugs that affected her memory of the entire experience. 

The Breen knew exactly where she and Ticana were. Why they hadn’t been captured yet, she didn’t know, but she knew they were not going to escape the planet on this ship. 

Before she could say anything to Ticana, the door to the engine room opened with a bang and Captain Morrock walked in. He pointed at the two women. “Get off the ship,” he said. “I can’t risk having escaped prisoners on board.”

Grace nodded. She didn’t know how he had figured it out and didn’t care. Right now, getting off the ship seemed like a very good idea. The slippery chip dropped from her grasp to the deck; she stared at it, frozen by indecision on what to do.

Ticana looked at her in panic, and then whispered, “Sorry.” Her expression changed, and she walked to Morrock slowly, and with the thoughtless grace of the Deltan women. Kathryn could sense the release of pheromones even as Ticana walked away. “Please,” she said softly. “I can make it worth your while to let me stay.” 

Grace watched in silence. Friendship meant little in this situation, she realized. Ticana had told her it would be each for herself if it came down to it. She felt only a little sting of betrayal, but it was enough to pause any urge to tell them about the chip. 

Morrock was clearly affected by Ticana’s nearness. “Are you one of the escaped prisoners?”

“I’m not,” Ticana said, then glanced at Grace. “She is.”

That was enough to snuff out any remaining trace of loyalty to her cellmate. “I’m going,” Grace said. “Now.” 

Ignoring the chip on the deck, she walked past Morrock, whose hand was rubbing Ticana’s lower back, and quickly made her way to the docking hatch. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at least the Breen would think she was still on the _Starwagon._ The ship would probably be boarded and Morrock and everyone aboard arrested. If she were very lucky, before that happened she would find another captain as desperate for crew as Morrock and be off planet.

_ 2388: McIlroy Farm, New Caledonia; Catriona _

“What the captain didn’t know,” Catriona continued, “is that the Breen implant transponders into all prisoners. Honestly, I didn’t know about it until I found it. I don’t know why they hadn’t caught us before we got on the ship. Maybe the two of us were their last priority – we were the only females to escape, and the Breen have a fairly low opinion of women’s abilities. Or maybe they were playing games with us, letting us think we had a chance to escape. But before he set me off, I dug mine out. It was on his ship when he left. So was my cell mate. I figured they’d all be arrested before they left the port.”

She drew a shaky breath, and closed her eyes briefly. “I heard later that night the ship was destroyed by the Breen fleet before it was out of the planetary system. The news vids announced that all the escaped prisoners were captured or dead and the search was over. The next day I was able to get a berth as a cook on a different cargo ship. That’s when I became Catriona. There was a farmer on board, bringing a small herd of Breen silk goats here.” She smiled. “They’re considered contraband in the Federation, but they have sweet personalities and the most amazing, soft fleece. Anyway, he liked my cooking and asked me to stay as his housekeeper. He died last year, and I inherited the place.”

She decided not to tell him that “Bloody Angus” McIlroy had been a taciturn, abusive bully who reveled in his nickname and suffered a debilitating stroke six months after she arrived. She took over the farm chores as well as caring for him. Just a few weeks before his second and fatal stroke, she’d coerced him into marriage, to ensure she would inherit the property without question. In retrospect, she regretted that, since it appeared no one would have challenged her right to the farm in any case. The colony operated under Andorian law, which meant she would have inherited without the marriage unless claimed by a putative relative, and none of the colonists, human or Andorian, cared enough about the rocky land to challenge her right.

On New Caledonia, she had a name, a home, the company of her goats and, infrequently, visitors interested in buying her fleece or her yarn, or even one of the blankets she wove on the loom. Her skills in that area were still pretty rudimentary, but no one else in this part of the colony was attempting it, so even her amateurish efforts could be marketed. The Federation rarely bothered to stop here and never came out to the hinterland. She could live with caution, but usually without fear that Section 31 had found her. 

There. That was the story, at least the important parts. She waited for his reaction.

_ Chakotay _

“He died last year, and I inherited the place.” 

She was standing a few feet in front of him, her arms wrapped around her chest in a protective stance and with an uncertain expression. His heart ached for her; he understood that she was giving him the abridged version and editing out many details, some of them probably very harsh. More than anything, though, he hated seeing her look so insecure. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Some of the old fire of Kathryn Janeway flashed in her eyes, and his heart lifted a bit. “I’m not asking for pity,” she said with dignity.

“I’m not offering pity,” he said. “But I am sad you went through all that alone. I wish - I wish you had let me know. Or Paris, or someone.”

“Don’t you understand?” She stared at him. “If I contacted anyone, Section 31 would know I’m alive. No one resigns from Section 31. They want me dead, and they won’t hesitate to kill anyone who helps me.” 

He wanted to tell her she was overreacting or being paranoid, but bit it back. If even half the rumors about Section 31 were true, she could well be right. Even if she wasn’t, he wasn’t going to be able to convince her otherwise. “I still wish it could have been different.”

She shrugged. “Well, no point wishing for what can’t be changed.”

There it was - the opening he’d been waiting for. Quietly, calmly, he asked, “But what if it could?”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What do you mean?”

_Too soon_, he thought as he gauged her reaction. She was still too wary, and after hearing her life story, he understood why. “Just wishful thinking.” He tried to smile but it fell flat. “The tea’s not bad,” he said as he returned to the chair and took another sip.

For a moment, she seemed bemused by the change in tone and topic, but then she gave a small shrug. “It’s better with cookies.” She brought a ceramic jar over to the table and removed the lid. “They’re called mena cookies, but they remind me of snickerdoodles, although they’re denser. I’d offer you stew, but it’s a meat base.” 

He tried a cookie, and decided her description was accurate. “I like it,” he told her. “Did you make them?”

“I told you, I worked as a cook. I’ve picked up some new skills.”

After another cookie, he said, “You haven’t asked about anyone. Do you want to know how your friends and family are doing?”

To his surprise, she said, “I’m not sure.” His surprise must have shown because she added, “Over the years, I’ve imagined them all happy and healthy. I’m not sure I want to give that up.”

“Well, it’s true for many of them. Your sister is living on the farm in Indiana with her family. They are doing well. She’s expecting her first granddaughter around September. They plan to name her Kathryn.”

Her eyes got misty, but she blinked back any tears. “You kept in touch with her?”

He nodded. “She’s stayed close to all the _Voyager _crew. Tom and B’Elanna are doing well, too. They stayed in Starfleet until last year, when they finally had their third child. Miral and Katie came so easily they were surprised it was so hard to have another. This one is a boy. They named him Owen, but they call him Buster.”

She choked on a sip of tea, laughing. “Oh, no, not really? After Buster Kincaid? I’m surprised B’Elanna allowed it.”

“Apparently Tom started calling the baby that as soon as they found out it was a boy, and B’Elanna finally gave up. She says it’s an indirect way to honor Harry.”

Now she was smiling. “Harry. How is he?”

“He’s good. He’s a full commander now and XO on the new _Intrepid._” He shook his head. “Still unlucky in love, though. He was engaged a couple of times, but it never worked out.” 

“Poor Harry.” She suddenly seemed eager to hear more. “And the Doctor?”

“Ah. A mixed bag for him, I’m afraid. Not long after you left, there was a court ruling that photonic beings could not be considered sentient life forms. That closed a lot of doors for him on Federation worlds, so he signed on with a traveling opera troupe, posing as human.” He smiled. “He made quite a reputation for himself as Pagliacci, too. But he’s on Vulcan now, working with them to try to change the laws on photonic life forms.”

“Is he working with Tuvok?”

He paused before answering. This was the one he was dreading. “No. I’m sorry, Kath- Catriona, I’m sorry. Tuvok died three years ago.”

“No,” she said softly, pain taking over her face. “He was cured, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but life never has guarantees. He was on a pilgrimage when he suffered an aortic aneurysm. He died almost instantly.”

She closed her eyes and was silent for several seconds. “Well, at least he spent his last years with his family.”

He nodded, but then leaned toward her. “Is that why you went along with Admiral Janeway? To save Tuvok? To let Seven and me ‘be happy’?” 

That put her hackles up; he could see it in the tilt of her chin and stiffness of her shoulders. “And if it was? I’d say it was worth it.”

He’d forgotten that she had a bit of a martyr complex sometimes. All these years, she had suffered and probably suffered gladly, thinking that her pain was the price for her loved ones’ happiness. “If the others knew what I do now, about what has happened to you, I don’t think they would agree.” 

That made her angry, no doubt about it. Her jaw set and her eyes flashed. “Why are you here?” she asked in a voice as cold arctic wind. “I’m sure it’s not just to criticize my life choices.”

“No.” He took a deep breath. “I’m here because Captain Ducane asked me to talk to you about fixing the damage caused by Admiral Janeway’s temporal incursion_.” _

“Ducane? From the 29th century?” She stared at him as if he’d turned into a frog. “How do you know Ducane? I never shared that with you.”

“I know,” he said wryly. “I’ve come to realize there was quite a bit that happened on _Voyager_ that I never knew about.”

“It was need-to-know,” she said, “and you didn’t.” She looked around as if someone could be hiding in the small room. “Where is Ducane? Is he here?”

“He’s in orbit, in the _Relativity.” _

“Then leave. Leave now. I don’t want anything to do with him, or time travel, or second guessing myself.” She stood up and actually pointed to the door. “Just leave.”

He stood up, feeling terribly sad and completely reluctant to go and leave her so alone. This was not the way he wanted to leave things. “All right, you don’t have to talk to him. But please don’t send me away yet. I’ve only just found you again.” 

_ Catriona _

With eyes like the saddest puppy ever, he said, “Please don’t send me away yet. I’ve only just found you again,” and somehow, Catriona just couldn’t be angry with him any longer. 

Once, oh, so many years ago, she had been closer to him than any other human being. And even though they both knew they could never let it be more than friendship while they were in the Delta Quadrant, she was closer to him than any lover she'd ever had, even Justin and Mark. When he and Seven began their relationship, she knew she could have ended it with a word, but she didn’t. As the command team, they had to put the welfare of the ship and crew first. It wasn’t fair that both of them should both be denied the comfort of a loving relationship. She willed herself to be happy for them.

And now, after all her years of isolation, he brought back the old feelings just by standing there. It was unsettling, and she was certain it was unwise to let them revive. “What do you want from me, Chakotay?” she said, sitting down again.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I thought I did, but now – I want to be your friend again. I want to help you. I suppose I want things to be like they used to be.” 

For a long moment, she stood still and stared at him. She should insist he leave; she ought to send him away and tell him to forget he found her. But for some reason, she couldn’t do it. “Sit down,” she said. “You haven’t finished your part of the story. Where did you go after Starfleet?”

He sat. “Back to Trebus,” he said. “I thought I could re-integrate with my people. They are trying to restore the surface life.”

From his expression and tone of voice, it did not sound like a happy experience. “How’s it coming?” she asked as she joined him at the table.

“Slowly.” He closed his eyes in memory. “Too slowly. After a while, I couldn’t take it. Every day was a reminder of how much had been lost.” Opening his eyes again, he went on, “So, I decided to get back into history. I returned to Earth and worked on a book about John Kelly and the graviton ellipse. It’s with a publisher now.”

“Were you happy?” she asked, both out of curiosity and hope that he had been.

“I was … content.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time since I felt happy about much of anything. Being content was enough.”

She couldn’t help chuckling. “I understand that. I’m content with my little house and my goats, and that’s been enough.” 

He nodded in mutual understanding, then resumed. “I was doing research on Andor for another book when Ducane found me. He explained his mission: that Admiral Janeway’s violation of the Temporal Prime Directive resulted in some catastrophic changes to the timeline that needed to be corrected.”

Oh, she didn’t doubt he said that. Ducane, and Braxton before him, had been experts at dire hints of doom and destruction. She also was sure she knew the answer to her next question before she asked it. “Did he tell you what, exactly, was so catastrophic?”

Chakotay shook his head. “No. Temporal Prime Directive, you know.”

She laughed. “Oh, yes. I know.” Shaking her head, she told him, “That’s how they operate. Lots of vague and distressing hints without actually providing any substance. And they’re a little bit, uh, unreliable. Apparently too much time travel does that to a person. They call it ‘temporal psychosis.’”

“But you agree – he really is a time traveler from the 29th century?”

“Oh. Well, yes. I think that part is true.” She looked at him curiously. “I’ve met Ducane before and I actually remember it; but you never have, at least not as far as I know. Why did you believe him?”

“He knew a lot of detail about our time on _Voyager_,” Chakotay said, and then averted his eyes to seemingly study the fireplace. “And he said he could take me to you.” 

She didn’t know what to say to that. For so many years now, she had assumed that Chakotay’s feelings for her had faded during their years on _Voyager_, and that Seven was the true love of his life. Learning differently was painful, like opening an old wound. She reached across the table and laid her hand on his.

Before she could say anything, though, they both jerked their heads at the sound of a transporter beam. Suddenly, the man she remembered as Lieutenant Ducane was standing in front of her fireplace. He was older than she recalled, but still thin and palpably humorless. Judging by the insignia on the collar of his all-gray uniform, he was now a captain. 

“We’re running out of time,” he said without preamble. 

“Then let me save you any more trouble,” Catriona said quickly and firmly. “The answer is no. Now leave.”

Instead of obeying her, he frowned at Chakotay. “Didn’t you explain it to her?”

Chakotay shrugged. “We were just getting into it.”

Ducane didn’t actually roll his eyes, and yet she knew he was doing that in his mind. “All right. Here’s the thing, Captain Janeway: when you agreed with Admiral Janeway to violate the Temporal Prime Directive and bring _Voyager_ back to the Alpha Quadrant in 2378, more than the fate of you and your crew was affected. Your actions changed something else, and that change had catastrophic effects on the timeline a century later. We have to undo what you did.”

“I don’t suppose you can tell me any details?” she asked, knowing what the answer would be. 

He frowned. “You know I can’t. Temporal Prime Directive.” 

She turned to Chakotay. “Told you so.” She turned back to Ducane. “Not good enough. From my perspective, my crew got home sixteen years sooner than they would have otherwise, with 22 of them – including Seven – still alive. Chakotay is alive and Tuvok is – was – cured. I cannot think of a single thing you can tell me to convince me to undo all that.”

The time traveler looked at Chakotay. “Can’t you talk sense to her?”

“I think she’s making perfect sense,” he said, then looked at her. “You know, it would mean your life would have been very different the past ten years. Still, I know that’s not a good enough reason for you.”

She smiled. “You’re right. And it’s not so bad here. I really do like my goats.” 

Ducane made a sound that fell somewhere between a huff and a sigh. “All right. I can tell you this. _Voyager_ needed to be in the Delta Quadrant after 2378. You and your crew did something that seemed insignificant to you at the time but had huge implications later.” He pursed his lips, then continued, “Time is like a deep lake that is usually undisturbed. But if you toss a rock into it, you create ripples. That’s what has to happen. _Voyager _needs to be in the Delta Quadrant after 2378 to start the ripples. If it isn’t, the ripples never get started.”

“Ripples?” she stared at him disdainfully. “That’s all you’ve got? No destruction of the Sol System, no extinction of all mankind? Isn’t that what you’ve told me before?”

“Not me, Braxton,” Ducane said. “And he lied to me as well as you. He was suffering from temporal psychosis, remember. I am not going to lie to you, but I am not going to violate the Temporal Prime Directive, either.” 

“Wait a minute,” Chakotay said, looking disturbed. “Admiral Janeway told me that _Voyager _obliterated the Borg during those sixteen years, and that opened to the door to Species 8472 rampaging through the galaxy. She said that was why she was violating the Temporal Prime Directive.” Catriona frowned; the Admiral had never told her anything like that.

Ducane gave him a hard look. “That is not accurate. She was mistaken or she lied.”

“Apparently,” Chakotay said dryly, “she was ‘mistaken’ about several things.” He turned to Catriona. “She was manipulating us to get support for changing the timeline.”

She thought about what they were both saying. If she cooperated, it would mean admitting Admiral Janeway had been wrong, and therefore _she_ had been wrong to listen to Admiral Janeway. Everything she had gone through the past ten years was for nothing. But - was she refusing now out of ego, out of a need to believe she had not made a poor decision? She shook her head, but with less vehemence than before. “Not enough,” she said. 

Frustration showed in Ducane’s face now. “All right. There is more to it than just what _didn’t_ happen in the Delta Quadrant because _Voyager_ wasn’t there when it should have been. Did Admiral Janeway tell you how she managed to travel through time?”

Even though a decade had passed, she remembered every detail of her conversations with her older self. “No,” she said slowly. “And come to think of it, I never asked. I guess I assumed that you all,” she gestured toward Ducane, “were involved. You always were, whenever we had temporal issues.” 

“No,” Ducane shook his head. “She stole a piece of technology, a chrono deflector, from a very dishonorable Klingon who claimed he had invented it. What she didn’t know was that he was lying. He had _found _it.” He looked a little sour, like he had just bit on a lemon. “It came from the future and was illegally taken to the past. We have to make sure no one uses it, neither Admiral Janeway or that Klingon, until it is supposed to be used.” 

As she considered that, Chakotay said, “You keep using the word ‘supposed.’ Who judges what is or is not ‘supposed’ to be?”

“Starfleet Command,” Ducane replied promptly. “By the 29th century, we have a whole division of scientists, philosophers and technicians dedicated to understanding the timeline and protecting its integrity.”

“Forgive me if I don’t find much comfort in that,” Chakotay said wryly. “Starfleet Command is as vulnerable to politics, self-interest and well-intentioned mistakes as anyone.”

Ducane shook his head. “All right, let me try this. You are familiar with Newton’s Third Law of Motion? For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. It’s the same with time. If you make a change here” – he pushed the air with his right hand – “you get a reaction here.” He seemed to push just as much air with his left hand. “Admiral Janeway gave your timeline one big push. Basic physics should tell you something equally big but unintended happened, too.” 

“Why,” she asked suddenly, “don’t you focus on assuring the device is retrieved before the Klingon finds it? That seems like it should be much simpler.” 

“We tried and we failed,” Ducane admitted. “Repeatedly. As you may remember, there are a finite number of times we can attempt a specific correction before temporal psychosis sets in.” 

She sighed. “I _hate_ time travel. I hate temporal mechanics.” Without effort, she managed the old glare, even though she hadn’t needed it in a long time. “And I don’t owe Starfleet anything.”

Ducane’s face fell. “So you really won’t help?”

She hesitated, trying to be clear in her own mind about her motivation. If she believed Ducane, there were good reasons for helping him, but could she believe him? Turning to Chakotay, she said quietly, “What do you think?”

“I don’t know how to determine if one timeline is more valid than another,” he said slowly, “but it seems the Admiral was either mistaken or lying in order to persuade you, and she used technology stolen from the future. That tells me she was wrong. If you have to use something not from your own time to achieve an end, it isn’t a valid part of the timeline.” 

She frowned. “What about the Doctor’s mobile emitter? That came from the future and we never have a visit from the time police about it.” 

They both turned to Ducane. He looked uncomfortable. “We aren't the 'time police.' And that example… isn’t as valid as you think. Because no one in your time could actually replicate or reverse engineer the emitter, many scientists began working to create one. And eventually one of them did, right when it was supposed to happen. The Doctor’s use of the device did not significantly disrupt the timeline. Admiral Janeway’s actions did, and catastrophically so.”

“’Catastrophically’?” Chakotay repeated. “That’s another word you keep using.”

“All right,” Ducane said dryly. “Try disastrously. Ruinously. Devastatingly. Cataclysmically. Open a thesaurus and take your pick. It was very, very bad and I don’t think I can overstate that.”

She let this sink in and then said to Ducane slowly, “If we do this – _if _– will the timeline return to exactly what it was before the Admiral’s interference? Will _Voyager_ get back to Earth in 16 more years? Will all those crewmen die? Will Tuvok never be cured? And if you cite the Temporal Prime Directive to me, you may as well leave now.”

Ducane seemed to think for a moment and then spoke with the most candor she had heard from him all day. “I don’t know. Understanding time can be as much art as it is science. There’s a school of thought that believes there are certain key events that will always happen the same way, but less vital details are subject to change. There’s another camp that believes time is rigid if undisturbed and if the interference is corrected, it will repeat itself exactly.” He smiled. “If you help, we might be able to use this as a case study to determine which is correct. Of course, we couldn’t tell you the results.”

“I want a cure for Tuvok,” she said, ignoring his little joke. “I’m willing to bet that by the 29th century you have a cure for his condition that doesn’t require a family member. I want you to find a way to get that cure to our EMH.” 

“More temporal interference?” Ducane shook his head. “That’s counterproductive. And didn’t Commander Chakotay just say that if you have to use technology from the future, it’s a sign it’s wrong?”

“It’s non-negotiable,” she said firmly. 

Ducane pulled out a small device, possibly some evolution of a tricorder. Without seeming to enter any search parameters, he studied information he found there. “Well,” he said in a low voice, apparently to himself. “That’s surprising. Point 009. That’s all?” Then he looked up. “Agreed,” he said. 

She was stunned. “Really?”

He nodded. “We can accomplish your request within acceptable parameters.”

Chakotay looked at him suspiciously. “Why do I think the EMH came up with that cure without your help?” 

Ducane smiled serenely. “Temporal Prime Directive. So, Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, what will it be? I don’t want to be rude, but we are working to a deadline here. There’s a limited window of opportunity to accomplish this goal.”

“What?” she said, again confused. “Why does it matter when we decide? The key point is when you insert us.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said dismissively. “We have a window of opportunity and it is closing. What is your answer?”

She looked around her comfortable, albeit shabby, little house. She thought about twenty-two more dead crewmen, including Seven. She looked at Chakotay and thought about him married to Seven, losing Seven, and living with grief for years before his death. Now that he knew that, too, he had a right to choose. “What do you think?” she asked him.

He answered slowly. “I can’t help feeling that the Admiral was wrong to mislead us and to use future technology. She broke the Temporal Prime Directive despite the fact she actually believed it was valid. You can’t get an ethically right outcome from that much unethical behavior. And if he’s telling the truth, we had more to accomplish in the Delta Quadrant.”

“You’ll die,” she said, and to her embarrassment, her voice broke.

“Of course I will,” he said with a smile. “Everyone dies sometime, Kathryn. When we die is not as important as how we live.” 

Something hard and icy inside her, something that had been there for a long time, melted. She found herself smiling at him and feeling that something precious had been restored. She was Kathryn again, and she was working in tandem with Chakotay. That felt _right,_ more right than anything in years. “All right,” she told Ducane. “What do we have to do?

_ 2404, Admiral Janeway, SC-4 shuttlecraft, somewhere above a planet in the Klingon Empire _

It took only a moment to find what she was looking for – a small, self-adhering transporter relay. With this, she could get the chrono deflector from Korath, whether he gave it willingly or not. She slipped it into the pocket of her uniform jacket and returned to the forward compartment.

The instant she was in the cockpit, she froze. Chakotay sat in the pilot’s chair.

She felt the blood rush away from her face. “Chakotay?” she whispered. “But – but-“

“I died ten years ago?” he said. “Not exactly.” 

The answer to the ghost in front of her rang like a clarion call through her brain. “Time travel.” 

He nodded. “I’m here to ask you to not do what you are planning. It was a mistake.”

She stared at him. “Not from where I’m standing. Not if you are alive.” Her brows furrowed. “How did you get here? Braxton? Ducane? Someone else from the 29th century?” When he didn’t answer immediately she went on, “Did they feed you a load of claptrap about the disruption to the timeline?” 

“Kathryn,” he said, “the device you are planning to use wasn’t invented by Korath. He found it and he doesn’t really know what he has. It’s from the future and it shouldn’t be used yet.” 

She looked at him disdainfully. “Of course, it’s from the future. Korath doesn’t have the ability to invent something like that.”

“You know that? And you are still going through with this?” he asked, surprise and disappointment in his tone.

“I have to.” She took a step forward, hoping she could make him understand. “I’ve been planning this for years. I have to see it through.” Her plan was meticulous, and it would work. She knew it would work. 

As she took another cautious step, she realized someone was standing behind her. Whirling around, she saw… herself. Another Admiral Janeway. “Who – what,” was all she managed to say before the other one slapped the Admiral’s neck. She felt a prick, then a cold sting, and then everything went black.

Consciousness came back slowly and thickly. She realized she was sitting but could not move. As awareness returned, she opened her eyes just enough to see that she was still in the cockpit of the SC-4, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat. Her hands and feet were shackled. Chakotay was in the pilot’s seat. 

She kept her eyes closed, pretending to still be unconscious. Apparently, he didn’t know about the neural interface with the shuttle. She turned her thoughts to the ship’s controls, intending to take it out of orbit. The SC-4 responded as promptly as ever and requested the command code. It was an odd request, but she provided it. 

The SC-4 told her it was the wrong code.

Her eyes flew open and she found Chakotay studying her with some amusement. “You forgot,” he told her. “We have another Kathryn Janeway. She changed the command codes.”

Frustration overwhelmed her. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you understand? I am trying to save your life. I am trying to save the lives of our crew.” 

The amusement fled, and he looked at her compassionately. “Your motives are not in question. It’s the means that are a problem. If you have to violate the Temporal Prime Directive repeatedly to achieve your end, Kathryn, it’s not right.” 

“You don’t understand,” she said. In all the times she had thought through her plan, all the times she visualized its outcome, she had never for a moment considered that Chakotay or the others wouldn’t be happy with the outcome. “You don’t know what it was like.” 

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But you can’t play God, Kathryn. You can’t be the one to decide my fate, or anyone’s but your own.”

“Nonsense,” she snapped. “As captain, I had to do that all the time.” _That’s how we got stranded in the Delta Quadrant,_ she thought. _I played God and made a decision._

As if he heard her thoughts, he said, “I’m curious. If you have the ability to travel in time, why not go back to the beginning? Why not convince the younger Kathryn to use the Caretaker’s array to get home instead of destroying it?”

She stared at him. When she initially heard rumors of the chrono deflector, that had been her first thought. But if she did that, the Ocampa likely would have been subjugated or killed by the Kazon. And _Voyager’s _crew never would have developed into a family forged by adversity. The things they accomplished in the Delta Quadrant, the various defeats of the Borg, the détente with Species 8472 and the neutralization of the Omega Particle never would have happened. They would not have rescued Seven or Icheb from the Collective. The EMH would not have developed sentience. Neelix and Kes would not have come on board. She and Chakotay would never have become friends, or been stranded on New Earth. She had realized she could not live with that, so she chose the first opportunity to get the ship home after all those things were achieved. 

“It wasn’t the right time,” she finally said. 

“For who?” he asked gently. “It sure would have helped Kurt Bendera, and Lyndsey Ballard, and Pete Durst, and Ahni Jetal, and Joe Carey, just to name a few.” 

She closed her eyes. “That’s low.”

“But it’s true.” He touched her shackled hand lightly. “You chose the moment you chose for very specific reasons. You chose it because you decided in our seventh year in the Delta Quadrant that it was too risky to try to use the Borg transwarp tunnels in the nebula. You chose that moment because it was probably the last opportunity to get all the way home quickly for another sixteen years. And you chose it so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about Tuvok, or Seven or me, or the other crewmen who died after that.”

“No!” she protested. “It wasn’t about me. It was about you, and the rest of the crew.” 

“If that were true,” he said sadly, “you would have gone back to the beginning.” 

She swallowed hard. “All right. Let me do this, and I _will_ go back to the start, to the Caretaker’s array. All I want is to spare my crew.” 

“It’s too late for that,” he said gently. 

Suddenly she realized she had not seen her doppelganger since she woke up. “Where is she?” she asked urgently. “What have you done?” 

“She’s with Korath,” he said, “applying cheese to a gel pack.”

_ 2404, in a cave on a planet somewhere in the Klingon Empire; Kathryn _

Catriona-Kathryn, wearing some very clever makeup, an unfamiliar uniform, and a wig she suspected was more attractive than her actual hair, walked into the dimly lit cave. If she were standing beside the real Admiral Janeway, the differences between them would likely be apparent, but in this light and without an immediate comparison, she could pass muster.

A large Klingon stood in an alcove behind a force field, apparently waiting for her. There were two other armed Klingons behind him. She took it all in, then looked at the large one who was obviously in charge. “I’ve reconsidered your offer,” she took him.

Korath smiled smugly. “I thought you might.”

“I’ll give you the shield emitter, but not until I’ve inspected the device you’re offering. To make sure it’s genuine.”

The Klingon puffed out his chest. “You question my honor?”

Unimpressed by his anger, she told him, “If you were honorable, you wouldn’t have changed the terms of our agreement. Show it to me, or I am leaving.”

He studied her for a long moment. She suspected he was trying to intimidate her, but it wasn’t working. After dealing with Section 31, the Breen and Bloody Angus McIlroy, a strutting Klingon was no threat. In fact, he reminded her forcibly of one of her billy goats, the slightly stupid one with the bad attitude. She met his stare with an unwavering gaze. Finally, he nodded to one of the armed guards, who lowered the force field.

She walked into the alcove and picked up the device. According to Ducane, it contained some biological components that were critical to its operation. As she turned it over, examining it closely, she palmed a small chip and inserted it into an almost unnoticeable slot which Ducane had described. She turned it over twice more before handing it back. “I don’t think so.” 

“What?” Korath roared. 

“I don’t think it will actually work,” she said calmly, “and I’m not going to trade my shield emitter to find out.” 

He went goggle-eyed, staring at her. “I demonstrated it for your half-breed Ensign,” he growled and started to puff up again.

“Ensign Paris,” she said, fighting her anger at the insult to Miral, “is a very intelligent engineer. But she does not have experience with this type of device. It would be easy for her to misinterpret your demonstration.”

“Are you accusing me of deceit?” he bit out.

She raised her hand. “I’m not accusing you of anything dishonorable. I just don’t agree to your new terms. You have what you wanted – you are on the High Council. I find your price too high for unproven technology. Why don’t we just agree to end things now and go our separate ways? Surely you can find another buyer easily.” 

He studied her for several seconds, then nodded, apparently deciding he had won. “Agreed. Get out, now.” 

She nodded, and using the neural interface Ducane had provided, mentally called the SC-4 for a beam-out. The shuttlecraft responded immediately, and as the familiar tingle of a transporter beam consumed her, she thought it was a truly amazing little ship. 

_ 2404, Chakotay, SC-4 shuttlecraft, somewhere above a planet in the Klingon Empire _

“She’s applying cheese to a gel pack,” he told her, and knew she would understand the reference. The cheese-killing-the-gel-packs story, always culminating in B’Elanna’s order to “get that cheese to Sickbay,” was one that they told over and over during their years on _Voyager._

But the Admiral looked confused. “I don’t follow – oh. Are there biologics in the device?”

He nodded. “And she is inserting a bacteria which will kill it almost immediately. It’s a good solution. No one in this century will be able to use the device, she – the seeming you – will part on decent terms with Korath, and _Voyager _will be reset to its proper timeline.” 

Her face crumpled, and she bowed her head. “No,” she whispered. “Please no.”

He had known a few different versions of Kathryn Janeway – his captain, his companion on New Earth, his friend, the first Admiral Janeway he met, Catriona McIlroy and now this Admiral – and he knew how rarely she would show this type of vulnerability to anyone. “Kathryn,” he said gently, and she looked up. “Tuvok will be all right this time. We made sure of that.”

“But you, you’re going to die.” Her eyes got watery. “Seven’s going to die.”

“True. But not necessarily the way you remember.” He wanted to offer her some comfort, even if it was stretching the truth a little. “Apparently once the timeline has been tampered with, it doesn’t snap back exactly as it was. Some things may be different.” 

“But I’ll never know,” she said sorrowfully. 

“You might, without realizing it. If our years on _Voyager_ are different, your past ten years could be altered, too, and your memories different.” He squeezed her hand. “In the end, I’m not sure it matters. The point is, we are doing the right thing.” 

The console lit up, and they heard the sound of the transporter. Catriona-Kathryn, disguised as Admiral Janeway, materialized in the cockpit. She was smiling. “That went well,” she told them. “If Ducane was correct, that chrono deflector will be completely non-functional in about forty-five seconds.” Then she took in the sight of the Admiral, shackled and looking frankly miserable. “I’m sorry to meet you again under these circumstances.” 

Admiral Janeway looked her at oddly, and Chakotay realized that in the Admiral’s timeline, they had not yet met. It occurred to Catriona, too, because she looked a little chagrined. “This is why I hate time travel.” 

“So, it’s really not going to happen,” the Admiral said. With a slightly pleading expression, she asked them, “Was it so wrong?” 

“The Temporal Prime Directive exists for a reason,” Catriona said gently. “No matter how good our intentions, it was wrong. We shouldn’t have done it.” 

The Admiral sighed, and leaned back. Looking at Chakotay, she asked, “What happens now?”

“We’re going to return to Ducane’s ship,” he told her. “From there, we’ll deactivate the shackles and revert the command codes back to you. After that, it’s up to you where you go. We expect you will be merged into the repaired timeline shortly.”

“But what happens to you?” she asked. “If your timeline has been eliminated, why are you still here?”

Catriona/Kathryn answered. “We aren’t entirely certain. Apparently, we will continue in this timeline as long as we can perceive it. Once we fall asleep, theoretically we’ll be merged into the corrected timeline.” 

“I _hate_ time travel,” Admiral Janeway said.

Chakotay took both her hands in his, at least as best he could around the shackles. “Goodbye. I’ll see you soon.” 

She caught her breath, and smiled tremulously. “Goodbye,” she said in barely more than a whisper. Then she looked at her other self. “Get it right this time, you hear me?” 

The younger Janeway nodded, then touched a control on the console. “Janeway to Ducane. We’re ready.” 

The transporter caught them both.

_ 2388, Catriona-Kathryn, McIlroy Farm, New Caledonia  _

The gloaming was ending and true night beginning when Ducane deposited them, at their request, at Catriona’s farm. Before he beamed them down, he faced her with a stern expression. “You’ve reached your limit of time travel. This time, you may have symptoms. If you do it again, you will likely develop temporal psychosis. Don’t do it again.”

Her mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. “And just how am I supposed to know that? Once this timeline is merged into the original, I probably won’t remember any of this, right?” 

He gave a nod of acknowledgement. “That’s probable, although it seems to vary. But even if you don’t specifically remember, sometimes emotional memories carry over. So, try to be afraid of time travel, please.” 

"No problem there," she said. "I have a question for you, though." When he raised his eyebrows in response, she went on, "Why now? Why couldn't you come to me before I went to prison, at least?" 

For the first time, he actually smiled. "That was Plan B, if you refused this time. But my superiors felt that you'd be more amenable to helping after all you went through. I told them they did not understand you." 

Then they beamed down, he was gone, and she and Chakotay stood alone. He smiled at her. “I liked that. Working as a team again. I’ve missed it.” 

“Me, too,” she said. The uniform, the clever makeup, the attractive wig and the neural interface were all gone with Ducane; she was again dressed as Catriona the goat farmer, weather-worn and too thin. “So, what do we do now? Go to sleep and just get it over with?”

“Not yet,” he said quickly. “Can we just spend some time together? Maybe you can introduce me to your goats, or we could have dinner, or just talk for a while.”

Her goats. They were going to be a casualty of the truncation of this timeline, and it caused her a pang. But ten years ago, they hadn’t been born yet. Perhaps they would wind up with someone other than Bloody Angus McIlroy, someone who cared about them. And the idea of spending more time with Chakotay was very appealing. “I like that idea,” she said. “We can do all of the above. Let’s start with the barn. I want to say goodbye to them.” 

But at the doorway, she stopped and turned to him. “This timeline is going to end.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then it won’t matter if I tell you. We won’t remember and it won’t change the other timeline.” 

He looked at her intently. “Tell me what?”

“That I loved you all those years,” she said, somehow finding the courage to say it. “That not being able to tell you, not being able to act on it, was the hardest part of my command and the biggest regret I carried home.” 

His eyes lit with joy. “Truly?”

She nodded. “Truly.” 

Taking her in his arms, he kissed her tenderly. When it was over, she clung to him tightly. “I want it to be different next time.”

One arm tightened its embraced while the other stroked her hair. “Well,” he said slowly, “we could try creating an emotional memory. It might carry over just enough.” 

The suggestion was equal parts seductive and terrifying. She stepped back. “Chakotay, I’m not, I’m not what I was. I’m old and scarred and –-“

He stopped her with another kiss. “You’re Kathryn. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Her heart rose, and she smiled. Taking his hand, she led him to the bedroom door.

_ 2378, Captain Kathryn Janeway, USS Voyager, Delta Quadrant _

“Senior officers report to the bridge,” Captain Janeway announced into the shipwide comm system, frowning deeply. She didn’t like interrupting the personal time of her senior staff; they'd had little downtime recently and needed to decompress from the high level of stress they’d been under since nearly ramming a Borg cube inside a nebula three days earlier. They’d managed to get out of the nebula without attracting Borg attention, but they’d been on high alert ever since. 

She had confidence in her Beta shift officers, but this development required the best and most experienced minds available. She knew for a fact she was interrupting Tuvok’s meditation time and a supposedly secret “date” between Chakotay and Seven, but it couldn’t be helped. This had the potential to be extremely dangerous.

Tuvok and Kim reached the bridge first and took their stations; moments later, Chakotay and Seven arrived together. She peeled off to Astrometrics and he came directly to his chair. As he sat, he asked the Captain, “What is it?”

With a frown, she told them, “Judging from the tachyon emission, some sort of temporal rift.”

Seven looked up from her station. “How is it being generated?”

Kathryn shook her head. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” A temporal rift was always, _always_ a harbinger of trouble. 

Harry Kim suddenly called out, “It’s gone!”

“What?”

“Confirmed,” Seven said, sounding confused. “There is no trace of tachyon emissions.”

“That made no sense,” Tuvok said, frowning. “Tachyon emissions simply do not degrade that quickly.”

Chakotay asked out loud, “How is that possible?”

Seven shook her head. “It should not be. But it is as if they were never present.”

One more Delta Quadrant mystery. With a sigh, Kathryn said, “Mr. Kim, please conduct an analysis of what just happened.” She turned to Chakotay. “Sorry to interrupt your evening for nothing.” She glanced in Seven’s direction. Although they had been very discreet, she was aware that recently they had been seeing each other. Learning that Chakotay may have a romantic interest in anyone on board, but especially Seven, had caused her some pain. Still, she reminded herself, she had no right to be hurt and he deserved to have some happiness. She just wished he had told her about it himself.

“No problem,” he said, but then continued to look at her quizzically. 

Suddenly she felt dizzy, and for a few seconds, the bridge seemed to spin around her. She blinked and tightened her grip on her command chair, waiting for it to pass. She seemed to be seeing things spinning past her – a strange shuttlecraft, a much older version of herself, goats (goats?), and an older version of Chakotay. Her stomach churned a little.

“Captain?” she heard Tuvok say. “Commander?”

The universe righted itself. “I’m all right,” she said slowly. “Just a moment of vertigo.” She turned to Chakotay. “You, too?”

He looked a little disoriented, but nodded. “That was very strange.” 

Paris left his station and grabbed a tricorder on his way to the command chair. “Let me see,” he said, and looked into her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she protested, but he frowned.

“Your pupils are dilated,” he said. “Something is definitely going on. And - odd, but you seem to have been exposed to chronitons.” He examined Chakotay. “You, too, Commander. I think you both should report to Sickbay and let the Doc check you out.” He looked around the bridge. “Anyone else have a dizzy spell?” 

No one responded. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Kathryn said as she stood. She took one step and felt her knee buckle, and then fell unconscious to the deck.

She woke up in Sickbay, lying on a biobed with the Doctor peering down at her anxiously. With an odd feeling of disorientation, she propped herself on her elbows. “Wha’ happened?” she asked, hearing that her voice was a little slurred.

“You fainted,” the Doctor told her. “How do you feel?” 

She started to answer with a perfunctory, Fine, but stopped short. She wasn’t fine. Her brain seemed to be running a competition between two different realities, one in Sickbay and one in which she was viewing some kind of holovid. The holovid won. She lay back again and closed her eyes. The holovid was the story of her life, but not the life she remembered – and yet she did. The story ended with the time travel officer Ducane and two different versions of herself – and a very intimate scene with Chakotay. 

“It’s sensory aphasia,” she heard the Doctor say, and opened her eyes again. After the first download – that was the only way she could describe the memories that had just flooded her brain – things settled down. She knew what reality she was in – and remembered the other one, where she had been; or at least, she remembered bits and pieces of it. Well, Ducane had said it was only ‘probable’ that she wouldn’t remember; apparently it was very possible. 

Before she could try to speak again, the Doctor pressed a hypospray against her neck. She felt something cool spread into her bloodstream. It was oddly settling. “I’m all right,” she finally said, and meant it. 

She saw now that Tuvok and Chakotay were standing behind the Doctor. Both looked immensely relieved when she spoke. “Chakotay, did you pass out, too?”

“No,” he told her, “but I did have another dizzy spell. The Doctor took care of me.” 

“Good.” She looked at the Doctor. “Any theories on the cause?”

“It could be related to the aborted tachyon emissions,” Tuvok said. “We still do not understand how they came to be there, or why they disappeared so abruptly.” 

“Let someone else work on it,” the Doctor said firmly. “Right now, the captain needs to rest. It would do you good, too, Commander,” he added, looking at Chakotay. 

“I’m not going to argue,” Kathryn said. She really was tired, probably from whatever it was the Doctor administered, but she also had a lot to think about. She had to get the Doctor working on a cure for Tuvok, and she had to figure out what to do about her own life. Despite remembering her declaration to Chakotay in the farmhouse, she knew that acting on her feelings while in the Delta Quadrant was as problematic as ever. And if he never remembered the alternate timeline, he might not be willing to take such a risk.

Tuvok looked at her, as if assuring himself she was going to be all right. “I will return to the bridge,” he said with a nod of farewell. 

Chakotay came to the bedside. “I’ll be in my quarters,” he told her, then leaned down and lowered his voice. “Rest well, Catriona.” 

The Doctor apparently heard what he said, and his eyebrows dipped. “On second thought, Commander, you may be having symptoms of sensory aphasia as well. You just said ‘Catriona’ instead of Captain. Please take a seat on the next bed.”

Chakotay smiled at her with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye and complied with the Doctor’s order. She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. He remembered at least some of it, too.

As she drifted off to sleep, the holovid-like memories started to blur and fade and she tried to concentrate, hoping to retain at least the important parts of it later. Last of all, she wondered how hard it would be to create a holographic program with goats. 

**Epilogue:** _ Admiral Kathryn Janeway, Federation Memorial Gardens, San Francisco 2404  _

The day was unseasonably cool and rainy, which was her least favorite weather, but the weather could not deter her. This day, of all days, she had to come. 

She walked without hesitation down the grassy aisle of the cemetery, needing no map or directions to find what she was looking for. The rain had left bits of grass on the marble stone and plaque, which she gently brushed away. “Chakotay,” it read simply. “2329- 2401.” 

“Hello again,” she said quietly. The very first time she had tried talking to him here, it had felt unnatural and almost silly, until a sense of peace had descended on her. It never felt silly after that. “You know what today is. The anniversary. _Voyager_ got back ten years ago. The party is tonight. I’m overwhelmed by how many of them are coming back.”

She paused, because her voice threatened to break. “Tuvok and T’Pel are coming all the way from Vulcan. This is probably the last time he’ll be able to make it. The Doctor may have succeeded in halting all the cognitive symptoms of his disease, but the physiological ones were only slowed down. It’s finally catching up with him. He needs a float chair to get around, and he’s losing most of his fine motor skills.” A lump formed in her throat. “I ‘m afraid he doesn’t have a lot of time left. I’m going back to Vulcan with them, when they go home.” 

With an effort, she changed the subject. “Tom and B’Elanna are coming. They got back from Qo’noS last week, and it seems to have done B’Elanna a world of good. She was so depressed after losing the baby.” Miral had come to them so easily that Tom and B’Elanna assumed they would have no problem building their family, but time and again, even with medical support, B’Elanna miscarried or the baby failed to thrive. After the death of their infant son two years earlier, the doctors advised her to stop trying. “It seems as if she’s finally come to terms with the fact there won’t be any others, unless they decide to adopt. But luckily, Miral is wonderful young woman and perfectly healthy. She won’t make it tonight - she’s assigned to the _Sagan,_ which is somewhere in the Gamma Quadrant at the moment. Did I tell you that Icheb is on the same ship? Harry’s going to be here, though. He’s taking command of an Intrepid-class ship next week and then starting a five-year mission through the Beta Quadrant, so I’m glad for this chance to visit.

“The Doctor and Seven are trying to make it, but there seems to be some sort of problem with her travel unit.” During the tenth year of _Voyager’s_ journey in the Delta Quadrant, Seven had been mortally injured during an away mission. Before she died, and with her permission, the Doctor successfully copied and downloaded her memory engrams into a holoprogram. He and Tom then created a holographic version of her and uploaded the memories. In a fairly short time, the photonic Seven had become a fully sentient version of the human Seven – beautiful, ageless, brilliant and forever alternating between sweetness and smug superiority. 

As a photonic being, she was subject to the limitations of most other photonic beings; she could only become visible and interactive with a holoprojector. That had not been a problem on _Voyager, _but once they returned to the Alpha Quadrant, her life was greatly curtailed. Starfleet’s best engineers had been unable to replicate the Doctor’s mobile emitter, but they had come up with a somewhat inelegant solution to give her a little more freedom of movement. They developed a small, portable device called the “travel unit,” in which her program could be downloaded and reactivated in any setting equipped for holographic projection. Kathryn’s apartment had been fitted with such equipment to accommodate her frequent photonic visitors. Currently, both the Doctor and Seven were on Earth, but even traveling across town was difficult if the equipment glitched. 

“Naomi’s coming with her family, and of course, Reg Barclay, and I’ve lost track of who else. It’s going to be very crowded in the apartment.” 

She was silent for a long time before she said, “Sometimes I wonder if we did everything we were supposed to do once the timeline was repaired. I don’t remember what happened very well. It’s all pretty blurry, like a dream that's fading. But I do remember Ducane telling us that _Voyager _was supposed to do something in the Delta Quadrant. We must have done it, since he never came back, but I still don’t know what it was.” 

She swallowed again and stared at the dates on the plaque. “I can’t believe it’s been three years,” she finally continued. “In some ways, it feels longer than the whole time we were in the Delta Quadrant.” She shut her eyes, remembering the day three years ago when her class at the academy had been interrupted by a call to tell her that Chakotay had been in an accident at an archaeological dig on Mars. She had made it to the hospital there in time to be with him at the end.

“I am so grateful for the time we had together,” she said softly, “but somehow, I still can’t let you go. Sometimes it feels like you are right beside me.” 

She bent over and laid a single red rose on the stone. “’Till all the seas gang dry, my dear, and the rocks melt in the sun - I will love thee still, my dear, while the sands o’ life shall run.’ Happy anniversary, love.” 

After a moment, she realized that the mist had started up again. Raising the hood of her jacket, she took a final look at the grave, and then she walked away. Tonight she was celebrating with her family. 

-the end-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jamelia for the beta read and excellent suggestions! 
> 
> I'm not sure exactly who owns the intellectual property rights of the Star Trek franchise these days, but it isn't me. I think it is CBS Corporation. 
> 
> Some of the scenes in 2404 and 2378 contain verbatim quotes of dialog from the season 7 series finale, "Endgame," written by Kenneth Biller & Robert Doherty. Ducane and his ship Relativity appeared in the season 5 episode "Relativity" written by Bryan Fuller, Nick Sagan & Michael Taylor. The cheese-infects-the-gel-packs incident occurred in the season 1 episode "Learning Curve," written by Ronald Wilkerson & Jean Louise Mattias. Section 31 was introduced on Deep Space Nine, in the season 6 episode "Inquisition," written by Bradley Thomspon & Devid Weddle. The conversation in which Admiral Janeway told Chakotay that she was breaking the Temporal Prime Directive to save the Federation from Species 8472 is found in chapter 3 of my story, "Though It Were 10,000 Mile." 
> 
> It is not possible to overstate how much I hate "Endgame." It needed to be undone, and that is why I love fanfiction.
> 
> And thanks again to the writing staff of the Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 project. Posting that series here, and the work on the Director's Cut, apparently revived my interest in writing.


End file.
